My Highland Spy

by Victoria Roberts

  “Why are ye still standing here? Please make haste. Tha mi ag iarraigh dol dhachaigh.” I want to go home.

  “Where is he?”

  Ian pointed at the dark-haired man who stood by the open door to the garden. At least Ruairi wasn’t the only one who was miserable in this heat. Now was the perfect opportunity to speak with the man. If he didn’t do it now, he wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to get involved with the English, especially since he’d spent his life trying to avoid them, but he knew Fagan and Ian would remain close at hand if he needed them.

  Ruairi approached the man, meeting his gaze. “Pardon me, but are ye Lord Mildmay?”

  “Yes,” the man answered hesitantly.

  “I’ve come a verra long way to find ye.”

  “Me? Whatever for?” The man looked around and shifted his weight as he leaned against the door.

  “Ye used to have a governess in your service, Mist—”

  “I’m sorry, but I believe you’re mistaken, my good man. You see, I’ve never had a governess and all my children are grown.”

  Ruairi was momentarily speechless. Ian had sworn he’d seen Ravenna at court with Lord Mildmay, and when his friend had confronted her in the great hall, she’d claimed to be this man’s governess. A cynical inner voice cut through Ruairi’s thoughts.

  What if she was his lover?

  Ruairi needed to think fast. He didn’t want to say Ravenna’s name for fear he’d place her in harm’s way and because he wasn’t sure of the extent of her involvement with this man. He certainly didn’t want to compromise anything she’d already done. Furthermore, the last thing he wanted was to become an enemy of the Crown because he’d opened his mouth and said something stupid. Ruairi’s uncertainty seemed to amuse the English lord, but at the same time a warning voice whispered in Ruairi’s head that he should not question the Englishman further.

  “My apologies for wasting your time.” Ruairi turned and cursed under his breath. How could he have thought that finding Lady Ravenna Walsingham would be easy? Nothing in his life ever was. He should’ve known the English wouldn’t give any information freely, especially to a Scot. Since no one would tell him where he could find Ravenna, this English bastard was Ruairi’s last hope. And he failed again. He was starting to walk away when the man spoke.

  “Do you love her, Laird Sutherland?”

  Ruairi froze.

  He turned and walked back with long, purposeful strides. “What did ye say?”

  “You heard me. I asked if you love her.”

  “Who? And how do ye know who I am?”

  “You were very careful not to mention her name so I assume the answer to my question is yes.” When Ruairi stiffened, Lord Mildmay added, “The woman is not my lover. She is my niece.”

  “How did ye know what I—”

  “This is your only chance. You will not have another. I ask you again, Laird Sutherland, do you love her?”

  Ruairi did not hesitate. “Aye, with all my heart. ’Tis why I am here. Please tell me where I can find her.”

  A devilish look came into the lord’s eyes, and he patted Ruairi on the shoulder with a friendly gesture. “Let’s take a walk in the garden, shall we? We need to have a chat.” He turned and spoke over his shoulder. “And please, leave your men here. If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead.”

  Ruairi liked this man already.

  ***

  Ravenna watched her sister look around the crowded hall and smile. Grace was still quite taken with court, even though Ravenna knew it would only be a matter of time before the enchantment wore off and Grace recognized this place for what it truly was—nothing but a home for political games and stifling heat. The public clamoring was enough to drive anyone mad.

  “You look beautiful, Grace.”

  Her sister smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “Please,” she said, exasperated.

  Ravenna waved her off. She didn’t realize her foul mood was ruining her sister’s moment. Grace had become very skilled at reading her feelings as of late. “I told you I’m all right. Quit your worrying. Now who’s being the mother?”

  “One of us has to be,” said Grace under her breath. “How long are you going to be like this? The man didn’t even try to stop you when you took your leave. The only one who followed you was that black wolf, and even he turned around after a while. Quit pining after someone you will never have. Uncle Walter is right. The sooner you take another assignment, the better. And don’t forget that I still want to help you with your next orders. I think I should start with something small. What do you think?”

  Ravenna forced a smile. “Where is your betrothed?”

  “I’m not sure. Why don’t we go and find him?”

  They walked through the sea of people, and Grace looked as though she was a small child on market day. Her head whipped from side to side, not wanting to miss anything of importance. She smiled in greeting to everyone she passed and she was happy. Ravenna remembered that spark of excitement, what it was like to live fully in the moment. She was lost in her own reveries when Grace reached out and grabbed her arm. At least her sister had sense enough to lower her voice.

  “When you’re searching for someone, how far back do you remain? I’m sure you wouldn’t want to get too close for fear of discovery.”

  Ravenna knew her sister meant well, but Grace’s relentless questions were becoming—well, relentless. Perhaps if she answered one of Grace’s more innocent inquiries, her response would satisfy her sister’s craving for learning how to master spy craft. Ravenna stopped and leaned her back against the wall.

  “Listen to me very closely. If you’re following someone, a public place often provides the perfect cover. For instance, if you’re at the market, at—”

  “Court.”

  Ravenna smiled. “Yes, at court. Anywhere there is a crowd. You want to make certain you’re dressed appropriately to mix in with those around you. You don’t want to stand out. That is one way to lessen your chances of discovery.”

  Grace’s eyes widened. “That’s why you were dressed as a harlot that night.”

  “Yes, that’s why I was dressed as a harlot.”

  Her sister’s smile broadened in approval. “Ravenna, that is so exciting! You must simply tell me how you do it.”

  “Look over there. Do you see your betrothed?”

  Grace turned and nodded. “Yes, I see him.”

  “Why don’t you try to follow him and see how long it takes for him to notice you? I’ll be watching from over there.”

  Joy bubbled in her sister’s laugh and shone in her eyes. “What a brilliant idea! I’ll be a spy for the Crown before you know it.”

  Ravenna’s brief amusement swiftly died. “Great, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

  Grace didn’t hear her sister’s words because she was off before Ravenna had even finished them. Ravenna walked along the edge of the crowd as she had done so many times before. She found an unoccupied wall and quickly claimed it as her own. She laughed aloud when she spotted Grace, who tried not to be readily conspicuous behind a stone pillar.

  “I’m so glad you decided to come with her. You look beautiful.”

  Ravenna didn’t even bother to turn. “Thank you, Uncle Walter.”

  He stood beside her and leaned against the wall. When he noticed Grace peek her head around the corner, he sighed. “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. I really don’t want to encourage her. Perhaps Lord Casterbrook will deter her wild ways.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  Ravenna shrugged. “We could always pray for a miracle.”

  “Will you follow me for a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  She lifted a brow. “Is that truly the best you can do? I told you I’m not ready.”

  “Since when do you pass up an easy assignment? This will only take a moment of your time.” He waited for her
response, and she knew he would never leave her be until she agreed. “Ravenna…”

  “Oh, very well.”

  She took her uncle’s arm and walked with him out into the garden. The cool spring breeze felt wonderful against her hot skin. Perhaps a brief respite would do her some good. The firelight from the torches illuminated the gravel path, which crunched beneath her feet. When Uncle Walter stopped, she looked around.

  “Are we meeting someone?”

  When he didn’t respond, she heard a noise behind her and a dark figure stepped from the shadows. Instinctively, she stepped back and lowered her hand to reach for her dagger, and then her jaw dropped.

  “Laird Ruairi Sutherland, pray allow me to introduce you to my niece, Lady Ravenna Walsingham.”

  Ruairi gave her a low bow. “’Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He brought her fingers to his lips and brushed a brief kiss on her knuckles.

  Ravenna stammered with confusion.

  “I see I’ve rendered her speechless,” said Ruairi. “They say there is a first time for everything.”

  Uncle Walter placed his hand at her back. If he hadn’t, she undoubtedly would have fallen to her knees. She suddenly found that her legs were shaking and could barely support her.

  “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

  She didn’t even notice that Uncle Walter had taken his leave.

  Her hands trembled, her body quaked, and she floundered before the man she loved. She felt his hand brush the hair away from her neck. She gulped hard, hot tears falling down her cheeks. He wiped them away with his thumb and gave her a tender smile. His arms encircled her, and she buried her face against the corded muscles of his chest. She’d missed his spicy scent, his touch, his companionship, his love. He filled the void that she didn’t even know she had. He made her whole. He completed her. He made her realize what life was all about.

  “I take it ye’re pleased to see me then,” he said in that lovely Scottish accent she had grown to adore.

  She sniffled. “Yes, very much. I don’t want to let go. I’m so afraid that if I open my eyes I’ll wake up from this dream. I’d die now if only to be held in your embrace one last time.”

  He rubbed his hand gently over her back and kissed her on the top of the head. “Och, Ravenna, I have missed ye so. ’Tisnae a dream, lass. I am here, a ghràidh.” My love.

  Pulling back, she wiped her eyes. “I am so sorry, Ruairi. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret causing you pain. I never meant to—”

  He placed his finger to her lips. “Shhh… There is nay sense in talking about the past. ’Tis done. I’m here at this moment to talk about our future.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After I stayed the desire to kill ye,” he said dryly, “I knew I meant what I said before. Whether ye are Mistress Denny or Lady Walsingham, I love ye. I know the lass beneath the surface well enough to recognize that the woman is one and the same. I want to be with ye. I cannae imagine my life without ye in it. Torquil and, aye, even Angus miss ye greatly. Come home, Ravenna. Come with me.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek. “Ruairi, there is nothing I want more, but you know I can’t. I have my sisters here in England. They depend on me, and you have your clan.”

  He took a deep breath. “There is something I need to tell ye. Cotrìona is dead, by her father’s hand, nay less. And there is naught to fear from the Gordon. Nay one will ever find him, but ’tis best if ye donna ask me how I know that. I came here to find ye with the help of Ian. I spoke to your uncle and I have his blessing. Your kin is my kin, what’s mine is yours. As long as we’re together, naught else matters. We’ll figure all that out later, together. If ye will have me, ye’d make me the happiest man alive.”

  Ravenna was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t quite know what to say. It was hard to remain coherent when he stood so close. He lowered himself on bended knee before her and held her trembling hands.

  “Ravenna, am pòs thu mi? Tha gràdh agam ort.”

  She shook his arm and thought she may have even squealed in delight. “English, Ruairi, English!”

  He laughed. “Ravenna, will ye marry me? I love ye.”

  “Oh, yes, Ruairi! Yes!”

  She pulled him to his feet and kissed him with reckless abandon. The man was right. As long as they were together, nothing else mattered. Whether England or Scotland, London or the Highlands, love had finally found her and Ravenna had no intention of ever letting him go.

  Read on for an excerpt of Victoria Roberts’s

  X Marks the Scot

  Winner, RT Reviewers’ Choice Award, Best Medieval Historical Romance

  Royal Court, England, 1604

  “Get up, ye whoreson.”

  Praying he was still in an ale-induced state and only dreaming, Declan MacGregor of Glenorchy slowly opened his eyes as he felt the prick of cold steel against his throat. A man with graying hair at his temples stood a hairsbreadth away from the bed, dagger in hand.

  A muscle ticked in the man’s jaw. “Get up,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The blonde in the bed next to Declan—what was her name?—gasped and tugged up the blanket to cover her exposed breasts. Her eyes widened in fear.

  “Ye defiled my daughter,” the stranger growled.

  Declan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I assure ye that I didnae.” He stole a sideways glance at the woman and silently pleaded for his latest conquest to come to his aid.

  “Papa?” The fair-skinned beauty sat up. “What are ye doing here?”

  Glancing at his daughter, the man spoke in clipped tones. “This whoreson had ye and will wed ye.”

  “Now just a bloody minute. I…”

  The enraged father glared at him, repositioning the dagger—much lower. Feeling the contact of the blade, Declan took a sharp intake of breath while the woman sprang from the bed as though it was afire. Hastily, she started to don her attire.

  He silently chuckled, realizing the irony of the moment. What would Ciaran think? Declan had chosen to remain at court in order to escape his older brother’s scrutiny, now only to be thrown deeper into hot water. In fact, it was scalding.

  The lass rolled her eyes at her father. “Really, Papa, ye must cease your attempts at matchmaking. I donna wish to wed him.”

  She pulled on her father’s hand, thankfully removing the blade from the most favorite part of Declan’s anatomy. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached down and felt his most prized possession was still intact.

  What the hell had he gotten himself into? The gods knew he had needs, but if he wasn’t more selective of the women he bedded, the fairer sex would surely be the death of him.

  He needed to escape.

  Declan threw back the blankets. While father and daughter were huddled in deep conversation, he donned his trews, pulled on his tunic, grabbed his boots, and simply walked out—unnoticed and unscathed.

  When would he learn that ale always led him into trouble? Perhaps there was some truth to his brother’s ramblings on how he was destroying his life. Not wanting to contemplate that revelation, Declan proceeded out the door.

  “MacGregor!” Sir Robert Catesby called, waving him over.

  In the fortnight Declan had attended court, he had met Sir Robert Catesby and Thomas Percy several times. Upon his approach, both Englishmen smiled in greeting.

  Declan nodded. “Catesby. Percy.”

  “We head to shoot targets,” said Catesby, holding up his bow. “Would you like to join us?”

  The corner of Declan’s lips lifted into a teasing smile. “The first time I bested ye wasnae enough?”

  Catesby slapped him on the shoulder. “Perhaps it was purely luck the first time around, eh?”

  “Come with us. I challenge you to a match, and we’ll see if you can equal my skill with a bow,” said Percy with a sly grin.

  Declan refrained from commenting that Percy barely had any skill with a bow.

  A bit of spo
rt was exactly what he needed after this morning’s spectacle. Engaging in some healthy competition might cleanse his spirit, so to speak.

  He nodded. “If ye are up for the challenge, it would be my pleasure to have ye attempt to best me again.”

  The men made their way to the targets. The sun was shining and the winds were relatively calm, a great day for shooting. When they arrived at the area, a handful of men were gathered and the boards were already in place. When Declan turned, it felt like he had been punched in the gut.

  Lady Liadain Campbell stood in the distance and brushed an errant curl away from her face. Her hair was the black of a starless night and hung down her back. Her high, exotic cheekbones displayed both delicacy and strength. Her lips were full and rounded over even teeth. The flush on her pale cheeks was like sunset on snow. She looked ethereal in the sunlight. Enchanting—well, that’s what he had thought the first time he held his dagger to her throat.

  Percy cleared his throat. “What say you, MacGregor? Let’s have some practice shots before we compete.”

  Declan laughed, reaching for the bow that Percy held. “’Tis fine with me, Percy. Ye need all the practice ye can get.” Declan adjusted the arrow and took aim. He focused on the board and shot, the arrow flying out of his fingers. His eyes never left the mark.

  Dead center.

  “Well done, MacGregor! Come now, Percy. Do not let me down, young chap,” said Catesby, handing Percy his bow.

  Percy adjusted the arrow. He raised the bow and took aim. At the last moment, his elbow moved and he shot far to the left.

  Catesby shook his head. “Clearly not your best shot, man.”

  Declan gave Percy a knowing look. “Do ye still wish to challenge me?”

  “I never back down from a challenge.” Something unspoken clearly passed between Percy and Catesby before they masked their expressions.

  Catesby reached out to hand Declan the arrows when Declan spotted the swish of a skirt out of the corner of his eye.

  The daft woman leisurely walked along the edge of the forest. He stifled a sigh, trying not to let his displeasure show. Quickly making his apologies to Catesby and Percy, Declan followed the lass with purposeful strides. Where did she think she was going without an escort? He had lost count of how many times he’d lectured her about that.